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St
Andrew, Wood Dalling

St
Andrew is in the remote heart of Norfolk, and is
close to giants; Heydon, Salle and Cawston are all a
country walk away. Because of this, the mighty
Perpendicular tower of Wood Dalling, pronounced dorling,
is probably not as well known as it might be if
it was in another part of the county. At first
sight, St Andrew might appear just another of the
large 15th century churches for which Norfolk is
famous, with its aisles and clerestory. However -
look closer. Ignore the tower, and you can see
that St Andrew is, in fact, an early Decorated
period church, probably from the turn of the 14th
century. It was here for more than a hundred
years before its more illustrious neighbours. It
is worth remembering that, for a while at least,
it was the largest church in the area, and is
unusual in having a tower later than its nave and
chancel. Perhaps the tower was built, or rebuilt,
to try and compete.

I like
small churches best, but this is exactly the kind of big
church that I like. In common with other churches around
here, it is open every day and welcoming to visitors, but
St Andrew is quite different inside to its neighbours.
You step into a huge open space, quite uncluttered and
full of light, and everso slightly ramshackle. There is
no coloured glass; St Andrew has no secrets, it is a
building to take in as a whole at first sight. Tall,
creamy arcades lift to the old wood of the roofs; the
benches are primitive, and can't be terribly comfortable,
but they are full of character. The brick floors complete
the sense of an utterly rural space. The chancel space is
enchanting. Oh, and the place is absolutely full of the
crunch of bat poo.

Wood
Dalling is not without treasures - there are half a dozen
good brasses and the remains of several others, including
a rare chalice brass. Oddly, they all seem to have been
reset, sometimes clumsily, in new indents, perhaps in the
19th century. Did they come from Wood Dalling originally,
I wonder? The stairs in the south-west corner leads to
the parvise of the porch, and there is a very curious
medieval corbel that seems to serve no purpose above it.
The effigy of a medieval knight in the north aisle is
even stranger - some Victorian fancy has recut it as a
19th century woman.

Not
much happens here - the kneelers all appear to be
from the early part of the 20th century, and some
of them bear the stern words kneel to pray,
which was one way of encouraging a robust
response to the liturgy, I suppose.

Probably,
not many people who visit the local tourist
honeypots come here. That's a pity, because this
is a cool, peaceful, sacred space, a place to sit
and be alone in the sweet silence. The setting is
superb, too - the village pond reflects the great
tower, and the lovely village sits quietly about
the church, surrounded by high-hedged fields. I'm
looking forward to coming back.